Colored Capsules

"One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish"  Dr. Seuss

Compound pharmacy staffed by nurses

Capsules remind me of Fahrenheit 451, especially with my empty stomach

Large and white one day

blue and blue

blue and red

red and blue

blue and white

white and red, too

The colors of flags

Does this make any sense?

Same medication in a different wrapping today

Through the window, I see them back there making this stuff

The same ones who monitor us

Is this all the same as they tell me?

At least the largest capsules feel half-empty

Trying to find reality, in a land where nurses choose to live chaotically 

Medication Time, people line-up

I stand in my doorway watching

Over-drugged, stumbling about men

The herd of cattle soon to be released to the pasture

I see people stay a few days, as I remain to watch the shuffle

What is wrong with him?  

What is wrong with her?

Is she bi-polar or hormonal?

Must be the anti-anxiety medication that gives a woman the look of pregnancy

She cries like a teenager

He gazes off into the distance; did anyone even try to give him medical treatment?

I can't say they are necessarily psychopathic or cray-cray, but they are doing the opposite of well-respected pharmacies

paradoxical defects

circa December 2012
 

pushed and tugged and shoved

It wasn't a dream

starring at dawn every morning the only beautiful colors to be seen

beige, upon beige, upon beige, upon beige

I give it a name, as anyone who enjoys reading paint chip swatches and nail polish tops would:  "Desert Storm Beige."

So, how do you feel being a beige person with an off-pallor from poor health or nutrition in your beige world?  Perhaps, if it wasn't winter, it wouldn't be so sad.

I read the schedule posted outside of the nurses station:  "Outside Time."

I really could use some time communing with nature.

So, it's like you're in the clinker, you ask, and a psychopathic nurse named Shannon explains.  You must ask permission to smoke, at a health center, in order to be allowed to go enjoy "Outside Time."  I'm not into being ridiculous normally, but figure let's give this a try, after all the schedule reads, "Outside Time," not "Smoking Time."  I ask permission from the psychiatrist, feeling ill and ridiculous.  Dressed in all my many layers including my socks with shower shoes, I line up at the secure elevator which requires key access in order to escape.  We are taken down to the basement level in what, of course, is the most disturbing concourse of a hallway from the 1960s with little slits of windows to an exterior door.  All of this building is in disrepair, but I like terrazzo floor.

"John Waters, please jump out from somewhere with Ashton Krutcher," I think.  It would be better to be the target of some unreality reality television program, than for this to actually be my reality.  The stocky redhead next to me introduces herself: "Leviton."  I respond, "like levitate or Louis Vuitton or Megatron?"  She's amused. 

Her name is actually Carrie.  Yeah, I see an image of Sissy Spacek when I learn this, too.

At a later point in time she introduces herself as "4 of 6."  I don miss a beat, "I'm 3 of 5."  This woman is not unintelligent.  A good Voyager fan is not hard to diagnose.  Also, I, the middle child, just knew birth order and the number of children in your family really does affect who we become.

So, back to "Outside Time."  You go outside in a courtyard bounded by the 6 story hospital, the bizarre concourse, the fascinating stain glass chapel, and a tall chain link fence part covered in black material.  Yes, of course, I am looking for an escape route.  

So as you exit the door, the nurse stands holding the door open; a volunteer inmate is given the task of handing out clove cigarettes, and the second employee lights the cigarettes.  I say I don't smoke.  I try to find a bit of life in the courtyard, but it's winter and this poor garden just doesn't like that much milling about and smoking.  The one sign of hope is the gigantic camilla bush.  I'll spend what seems like a lifetime starring out of the window from room 618 to see the bit of color in the blooms.  I never attend "Outside Time," again; it's far too depressing and unhealthy to receive so much second hand smoke.

I miss walking into the sky on trees that fell during Katrina, but struggled to survive at odd angles.  The cats mapped them as a super highway and would quickly make their way around the woods at the back of the property.  Life, breath, color, air, sky, breeze, nothing stagnant when you truly step outside and commune with nature.

©2014 D. Moss

Post from June 19, 2014 - Aorta Pulse Hypersensitivity: The Human Metronome

Aorta Pulse Hypersensitivity:  The Human Metronome

Thin as I've ever been

under the weight of puberty

pulsing loudly in my body and mind

the sound of the universe or a heart working overtime

my hips tick-tock back and forth like I am a human metronome

weakness in the spine is where my body is disjointed

hard to keep my footing as my torso and hips move to the pulse, but without a purpose

lying in my bed I feel as if I'm in my little ship

the wake of the waking attempts to lull me into sleep

in the bath you can see the pulse through the skin like a tom-tom drum kicking from within

every high and low of the heartbeat adding a new layer to the experience of time

In 2013, a cardiologist confirmed that what was overwhelming me was a hypersensitivity to the aorta pulse.  He studied medicine in the military and said it was not uncommon in thin soldiers.  He said they used to just cut men open to see if it was a aorta aneurism or just a hypersensitivity.  They checked mine with an ultrasound.  It has taken over a year to become less sensitive to this odd rhythmic feeling.  It was complicated with the amplified sound of hyperthyroidism.  

drowners

I went off the deep end
my parents were the ones who drowned
I tread water for a ridiculously long time